


Mind Games

by larascasse



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Best Friends, Broken Boys, But Not Friends, Fucking, Kissing, Lovers, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larascasse/pseuds/larascasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nico and Lewis are not friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind Games

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by real life drama, but still utter and complete lies. It’s 2nd person POV (aka trying to make you sympathize with Lewis, which is really OOC for this author, since she’s not a fan of Lewis).

 

The first time you remember feeling different is in Monaco, the 2013 GP weekend coming to an end. You’re in the club, the bass vibrating through your body when you feel it, the exact moment when Nico spots you from the dance floor. He seems genuinely happy, though you think what he’s been drinking is likely just as part of it as his win. You haven’t had a chance to properly congratulate him yet so you offer him a hug, arms wide open. He flings both arms around you and kisses your cheek as you pat him amicably on the back. He deserved that win. The hug lasts a fraction too long, his lips slow to leave your cheek, a hand dipping just a little too far down your back, a small thrust of his hips into yours. But then he’s gone, back to his dancing and into a crowd that’s celebrating just for him. You can still feel his lips against your skin as you make your way to the bar, but by the third drink, you’ve convinced yourself it was just a friendly teammate hug, made a little friendlier by Nico’s inebriated state.

 

The second time, it’s when you’re walking back from the pits to the motorhome. Nico is fuming mad at you. You were trying to overtake but lost it in the corner and landed you both in the gravel. You’re walking between rows of structures, trying to apologize to him. He doesn’t say anything, but instead raises a hand to your chest, stopping you in your tracks. He grabs the front of your overalls with both hands and wraps the material into a fist before slamming you against the nearest wall. You close your eyes, expecting a fist in your face, but instead he lands a kiss on your lips. He forces his tongue in, teeth scraping on your lips. Your first thought is that this should be Nicole’s mouth against yours, but Nicole wouldn’t have been this rough. She wouldn’t have left you gasping, waiting for a kiss or an embrace that would never come. But Nico isn’t Nicole, and as abruptly as he had pounced on you, he lets you go, but not before shoving you against the wall one last time. You stay behind, leaning on the wall as you watch him storm back to the motorhome. You want to punch him in the face, because he had no right doing this. You’re angry at him for it, but you’re mostly angry with yourself, for not pushing back, for having that warm feeling in your groin.

 

It doesn’t stop there. You replay the kiss over and over in your head. You rationalize it every way you can, never fully believing your own lies. It keeps you up at night, makes you crave his mouth on yours again, makes you seek him out whenever he’s alone. You never find the right words, choking on the sounds when he looks at you with his blue eyes and the same devious glint he’s had since you were teens. You only manage to let out an embarrassed laugh while he smiles at you and runs a hand through his hair. He’s always been above you, racing royalty. Maybe that’s what makes him so unattainable.

 

You should have expected that if you were ever to get what you want, it would be on his terms. He’s the one who gets the hotel staff to slip you a note with a time and room number, his room number. He’s the one who gets to take his time answering the door while you wait in the hall, nervously looking around to see if anyone is watching, wondering what’s next.

 

He opens the door with a self-assured look on his face, as if he just knew that you would be there, as if you had no other choice. He’d be right, of course. In your mind, you accepted his invitation the second you read it. He lets you in, a simple “ Lewis ” to acknowledge your presence, and to this day your stomach still does a flip when he calls your name. You wander in his room, kicking your shoes off before shuffling across the carpet, awkwardly awaiting some sort of instructions. It should be no surprise that your feet lead you towards the bed, the white duvet too white, too pure for the thoughts in your head.

 

Your breath leaves your chest all at once when Nico tackles you with his whole body, sending you both flat against the mattress.

 

“What the hell, man?” you start, trying to dislodge him from you, but he manages to inch closer, his breath warm against your ear.

 

“I think it’s time, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice lower than usual, then pulls back enough to look into your eyes.

 

You try to swallow but your throat is dry and all you can think about is how tempting his lips look, how inviting they are. You’re at a loss for words, again, but this time it doesn’t matter. Nico doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes your lips between his, gently but firmly and you feel his mouth purse into a smile when you let out a moan that sounds nothing like you.

 

He slides a hand inside your pants, but over your briefs, and you shut your eyes tight when his hand presses against your cock through the fabric. You're already hard and you wish you weren't so obvious. Nico doesn't seem to mind though, knowing him, he probably enjoys the effect he has on you. It reminds you of your younger days, like the one time he caught you jerking off, and he had simply smiled and tucked his hair back saying, “Thinking of me again, nice.” It had been a joke of course, but you both knew there was truth to it.

 

This time though, it's Nico who's doing the jerking, his hand rubbing the length of your shaft, squeezing it here and there. The friction of your briefs is harsh, and you'd welcome the lube sitting idle in your own room, but if this is all you'll get from Nico, then so be it. Your head is spinning and you don't know where to focus your attention. On his mouth, filthily kissing yours, or on his hand, showing you a glimpse of what you could have. You wish you could wipe the smugness from his eyes, that you could push him away and see his reaction, see the hurt of rejection painted across his face. You wish you were the one in control, but instead you twist and squirm and moan and thrust against his palm until he’s made you come and left you breathless and soiled. That’s all you get tonight, but for the two of you, it’s only the beginning. Hotel rooms and garages, dark corners and empty offices, his place and yours. 

 

It’s easy at first, when it’s only about sex, about satisfying your cravings. Then bit by bit, it’s about more than sex. He shows up with those awful pizzas he makes, the healthy ones he’s so proud of, the ones you eat while watching some foreign film with subtitles because you don’t speak a bunch of languages like he does. It’s evenings like these, snuggled on the couch, licking pizza sauce from his fingers, that you think it’ll never end, that after all these years of hard work, of fighting to get to the top, you finally have it all. A successful racing career, but more importantly, your best friend and lover all rolled into one.

 

The first winter test confirms it all. The car feels fantastic and you know, right then and there, you know this year the Championship can be yours. Nico tells you it’ll be his of course, and you don’t mind, not when he says it with his lips teasing your cock. 

 

He utters the words without looking at you, his eyes flicking back and forth between two telemetry printouts. “You should make up with Nicole. Sneaking around isn’t good for your career.”

 

There’s an edge to his voice you pretend you don’t hear. “Yeah, maybe I should,” you answer, staring blankly at the data in front of you. You don’t understand, or maybe you do, but you tell yourself he’s just looking out for you. After all he’s your best friend, your lover.

 

Nico wins in Australia after your engine dies. You congratulate him and even indulge in some champagne. His, not yours. Not that it matters when your mouth is against his, your legs around his waist as he thrusts inside you. His. Yours. It’s all the same.

 

You finish a second ahead of him in Bahrain, closing down on him in the points. You celebrate in your room, fucking him hard and fast, the adrenaline still rushing inside you. Nico lets you fuck him, but there’s something off in his eyes. Something hard where something that might have been love used to be. He comes all over your hand with barely more than a breath and a curse. You don’t dwell on it though, focusing on the way he feels around you instead and you’re almost there, so close. You grab his thighs, holding on to him, but he squirms from under you at the last moment and leaves you to spill your cum on the sheets while he escapes to the bathroom to get cleaned up. He doesn’t stay the night. He hasn’t stayed the night since Melbourne.

 

You continue to put out one 1-2 after another, the top step yours, your arm around him. You feel unstoppable, winning race after race with Nico by your side. You have it all, or so you keep telling yourself. You ignore the way he distances himself from you on the podium, the way he forces a smile when he congratulates you. You can look past that because you have it all. Almost. He still leads the Championship, thanks to Australia, something he teases you about, never lets you forget.

 

It’s only fitting that a year after it all started, you’ve come full circle. You’re back in Monaco and he’s the race winner, again. He plays the part well, smiling and waving and charming everyone within a mile. You don’t attend the party, not this year. You can’t forgive him for the qualifying incident, for taking pole position away. You know it would have been yours, and the race too. But Nico has always been the golden boy, the one that can do no wrong, the one everyone loves. The one you loved. It was stupid to fall for him, to let yourself be dragged deep in his mind games, leaving pieces of you behind after each encounter, slowly, unnoticeably falling apart and when you realised your mistake, it was already too late. Even at the beginning of the season, you foolishly thought you were ahead, that you were in control. You were winning, you were the leading car. But you were also crawling back to Nico’s room after every race, still craving his validation, his approval, his love. He let you climb high, then pushed you straight off the edge.

 

“We’re done, Lewis. From now on, we’re just friends.”

 

“Why? Is this about me and Nicole back together? You suggested it!”

 

“No. I just don’t love you anymore.”

 

“You don’t mean that.”

 

“I mean it.”

 

You fell hard and the world noticed. They noticed and sided with Nico. So you go straight to your car after the race, letting your driver take you away from here, away from him.

 

“We're not friends,” you tell the world. You just can't be. You can't let him rip your heart from your chest and be expected to pretend like everything is okay. What you hadn't expected is the huge fuss around it.

 

Niki talks to both of you, having easily picked up on the media frenzy. He sits you both down and looks at you with disappointment. Just what you needed.  Stop being childish and get over this “we're not friends” bullshit , he says, and Nico smiles and throws you under the bus, reminding Niki he's the one who said you were still friends.  But not lovers . You owe a lot to Niki so you agree and let the world know you and Nico are on good terms again, you're friends.  But not lovers.

 

Canada arrives and Nico beats you to pole again. There's the pre-race interview, and they ask about it. You tell them there are no points for qualifying. Nico agrees. You know you'll be fighting the whole race again. That's what everyone expects. You lean on him, your arm on his shoulder as the cameras record everything. They'll see that you're friends, best buds like you've been for years. But he moves away and your arm drops down. You smile, you're on camera, but Nico gives you a look that cuts right through you, sending chills through your spine. You are not lovers. You are not friends. Now they all know.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to J for beta-ing. Writing fic is a lot more entertaining when you're around!


End file.
